"And you have no wish, no fancy, that I can realize, Paulina?"
"None. Prom my earliest girlhood I have sighed for only one blessing—peace! You have given me that. What more can I ask at your hands? Ah! Douglas, I fear my love has already cost you too dearly. The world will never forgive you for your choice; you, who might make so brilliant a marriage!"
Her generous feelings once aroused, Paulina could be almost as noble as her lover. Again and again she implored him to withdraw his promise—to leave, and to forget her.
"Believe me, Douglas, our engagement is a mistake," she said. "Consider this before it is too late. You are a proud man where honour is concerned, and the past life of her whom you marry should be without spot or blemish. It is not so with me. If I have not sinned as other women have sinned, I have stooped to be the companion of gamblers and roués; I have allowed my house to become the haunt of reckless and dissipated men. Society revenges itself cruelly upon those who break its laws. Society will neither forget nor forgive my offence."
"I do not live for society, but for you, Paulina," replied Douglas, passionately; "you are all the world to me. Let me never hear these arguments again, unless you would have me think that you are weary of me, and that you only want an excuse for getting rid of me."
"Weary of you!" exclaimed Paulina; "my friend, my benefactor. How can I ever prove my gratitude for your goodness—your devotion?"
"By learning to love me a little," answered Douglas, tenderly.
"The lesson ought not to be difficult," Paulina murmured.
Could she do less than love this noble friend, this pure-minded and unselfish adorer?
He came to her one day, accompanied by a solicitor; but before introducing the man of law, he asked for a private interview with Paulina, and in this interview gave her a new proof of his devotion.